When Corned Beef Attacks

This weekend I got a couple guest appearances at the good old watering hole. Not as a customer, but as a bar back. Reminiscent of the days gone by, I always have a couple of thoughts concerning covering a shift. My first thought is usually about how I miss the bar business. Meeting good/strange/outright weird people is always an adventure. My next thought covers the other side of the spectrum. How glad I am to be out of the bar business. I was never able to properly adapt to working for tips. I have always preferred a steady paycheck. But this is not my point.
Friday night was uneventful, I was brought on as a spare. We were not busy. At 22:00, I told my manager I was bored and that he didn’t need me anymore, grabbed a beer and sat down at the bar. Not so bad for only three hours of work.

Saturday was a little different. Saturday I got my junk smashed by a box of Corned Beef. I’ll let that settle before I go on.

While leaning over a sea of kegs to get to a tap, I caught the corner of a box right in the nuggets. Now over the years, I have hurt myself on the job. Mostly minor cuts and bruises. This takes the cake. It was both painful and funny. As I walked out of the fridge slightly hunched over and trying to hold back some laughter I had one thought. “Man, I can’t wait until the internet hears about this.”

Enjoy your St. Patty’s Day festivities.
Don’t eat to much cabbage.
Strow